


Hale's Harbor

by tiedtogetherwithadagger



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alive Hale Family, Alive Vernon Boyd & Erica Reyes, Alternate Universe - Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, Alternate Universe - No Hale Fire, Alternate Universe - Werewolf, Boats and Ships, Claudia Stilinski Feels, Claudia Stilinski Memories, Fluff, Fluff and Humor, M/M, Summer, Summer Vacation, The Hale Pack - Freeform, because i can't do anything without fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-16
Updated: 2017-07-16
Packaged: 2018-12-02 18:33:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,853
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11515053
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tiedtogetherwithadagger/pseuds/tiedtogetherwithadagger
Summary: It was supposed to be six weeks of relaxation and intensive bonding with his father before Stiles went off to college. Of course, nothing was ever simple for Stiles. This was something he discovered when his childhood crush, whom he had never actually met, shows up and steers their boat off course. It’s a metaphorical boat. Like Moby Dick.





	Hale's Harbor

**Author's Note:**

> So this miiiiiiight have gotten away from me lol. This started as a small 3500 word fic and now here we are with over 10k. Oh well. I really hope you guys enjoy this!! I have to thank my wonderful friends [Angie](http://prettyinsoulpunk.tumblr.com/), [Lindsy](https://thetokenhuman.tumblr.com/), and [Jessica](http://clotpolesonly.tumblr.com/). You guys are so amazing and wonderful and I love you so so much. Thank you for all the hand-holding and pushing you did to help me finish this on time. 
> 
> And can I just say how unbelievably excited I was when I got SixSpades??? Thank you for being awesome, I really hope this doesn't bore you.

The day after Stiles graduated high school, his dad came into his bedroom with their old photo album. His mother had made it when she was in the hospital, wanting to leave behind her favorite memories with them. Claudia had shown them both bits and pieces of it while they visited her. Stiles had curled up next to her on the bed while she went through the pictures, telling him stories for each of them. Some were short and offered just enough to tell him who and where the people were, others longer with mournful silences splitting up her words, but Stiles’ favorites were ones that made Claudia laugh. It was his favorite sound, the rumble in her chest shaking him and made him squeal in delight.

He had only been ten when his mother was diagnosed, and twelve when she passed away. It had been too difficult at the time to go through the photo album and hadn’t changed in the years after. Now, Stiles was startled fully awake when his eyes caught sight of it. He hadn’t seen it since his mother’s death and only wondered where his father had put it on the worst of his days, when he needed something tangible of hers to comfort his short breaths.

Now his dad had it clutched between his fingers, knuckles white.

“I’m sorry for keeping this away from you for so long. Every time I tried taking it out of storage, I felt myself slipping again. I couldn’t lose myself again, not when I have you. Stiles, you kept me together when I thought every piece I had left was falling apart. I am so grateful to have you as a son, you know that, right?”

At Stiles’ nod, John continued, “I thought we could go through this together. If that’s alright with you?”

And so they flipped through the book, and Stiles recalled and retold the stories his mother had shared with him so long ago, his dad adding some of his own. It wasn’t until they got to the last page that they found a photo Stiles had never seen before.

John and Claudia were young, probably in their early twenties, and smiling brilliantly at the camera. What struck Stiles was where they were: on a boat called _Claudia_. John’s quick and shallow intake of breath was mirrored by Stiles. His dad lifted shaking fingers to press gently to the corner of the picture and lift it out. He flipped the picture over and read aloud, “ _John and me on dad’s boat. Summer 1986._ ” The words were in his mother’s script.

“This was right after we graduated college,” his dad said softly.

Stiles wiped at his wet cheeks and cleared his throat a few times before he was able to get out, “I didn’t know grandpa had a boat.”

John frowned at Stiles and furrowed his eyebrows. “You know, son. I actually forgot about that boat.” Stiles could see the wheels turn behind his dad’s eyes. “Have any plans this summer?”

Stiles grinned.

***

As it turned out, the boat was being held in an old barn just outside of town. The barn was left to them in Grandpa Czesław’s will. Stiles remembered coming here as a kid, still with a sippy cup – so hopefully younger than ten – and running around the cornfield until he got lost. The boat – _Claudia_ , Stiles reminded himself, as if he needed the reminder – was in surprisingly good shape and only needed a few repairs.

They planned. Stiles wanted to spend as much time as he could on the boat with his dad, it was the only way he could come close to the family he used to have, and it seemed John was right on board. Pun intended. Since Stiles had already planned to go to Scott’s graduation party, they planned to leave just before the fourth of July.

Hillside Port was the town where John and Claudia had spent that summer so many years ago so Stiles decided that was where they would stay. It was a small town, even smaller than Beacon Hills, and the place was teeming with wharves and harbors for boating. Since John hadn’t sailed in nearly twenty years, he signed Stiles and himself up for a sailing class. Beacon Hills was about three hours from the closest body of water and every Saturday for three weeks they drove down to spend the day on a boat with an instructor. Stiles put the certification on his resume with a gold star.

Finally, they set sail.

***

Fourth of July on the ocean was a breathtaking experience. The sound was loud yet muffled on the waters and flashes of light enveloped the water in vibrant hues of yellow and purple and red. The wind pulled at Stiles’ growing hair and the smell of sea was thick in the air. They had sailed out earlier that day, wanting to find the perfect spot to watch the fireworks. Almost an impossible feat with Stiles. The day had been long and hot, but when Stiles had pulled the fold-up chairs open and sat down with an exhaled, “Perfect,” John discovered it was worth it.

Stiles was leaning his elbows on the bow when his dad came up behind him. Something cold and wet nudged his bicep and when Stiles jumped away with a squawk his dad crowed with laughter.

“Great. Yeah, go ahead and make fun of your only son. How admirable of you.”

John wiped at his eyes and tried to school his features, but one look at Stiles pouting had him chuckling through his next words, “Your mom would have laughed at you too, son.”

And that? That was new. Ever since they set foot on the boat, Stiles found his dad more and more open to him about his mom. For years Stiles had been stepping around glass trying to steer clear of mentioning his mom around his dad, but now here he was sharing so much of her with Stiles. Sometimes, when it got especially quiet on the boat and the breeze turned soft and warm, Stiles thought he heard his mom’s laughter.

Stiles’ pout immediately disappeared when he spotted a beer wet with perspiration in his dad’s hand. The culprit. His eyebrows shot upwards as he looked from the beer in his dad’s outstretched hand to his face, and then quickly back again. “Um…”

“Stiles, you’re going off to college. If you think I don’t know you plan on drinking there, how the hell do you think I became the Sheriff? I’d rather you practice drinking responsibly here, under my supervision, than experimenting at a frat party with a keg.” And with that, John nudged him again with the beer. Stiles lunged eagerly for it, the condensation nearly making the bottle slip through his grasp. John cocked an eyebrow at him but refrained from commenting.

“Thanks, dad.” Stiles was oddly touched. Sure, his dad wanted to watch him like a hawk to prevent whatever tragedy that was going through his head. But it was more than that, he wanted to share a beer on a boat with his son on the fourth of July. It was _bonding._  Stiles let his dad rest an arm around his shoulders as they watched the rest of the fireworks and listened to him compare them to his mom’s smile.

***

When they got back to the harbor, there was another boat docked in the space next to theirs. Stiles couldn’t read the boat’s name but noticed the light was on inside.

“Looks like we’ve got neighbors,” said Stiles.

“Oh, that’s one of the Hales’ boats,” his dad told him.

“Who are the Hales?” asked Stiles.

“They own the harbor.” Before Stiles asked the inevitable, John went on, “People pay rent to keep their boats here. The Hales own the property. It’s not a hard concept, Stiles.”

Which, ouch, okay. Thanks, dad. Stiles was totally feeling the love over here. But he had more pressing matters at hand. Like a chance to hear more about his dad’s life – and hopefully his mom’s – era pre-Stiles. “You knew them?”

“Yeah, they’ve owned Hale’s Harbor for as long as I can remember. Talia always told me that it was passed down in the family. Her father handed it down to her, her grandmother handed it down to her father, and so on and so on.” John waved his hand in a move Stiles definitely got from him. “The Hales were always big, lots of extended family always helping out at the harbor. Talia and Damon only just got married when we first stayed here.”

“Sounds like you knew them pretty well.” Stiles was trying on his ‘subtle’ investigator hat and started peddling for information. Subtle, unfortunately, he was not. He knew what he was doing, his dad knew what he was doing, and the shadow in the boat next to them probably knew what he was doing. It didn’t matter to Stiles, though. Stiles was using this boating trip to learn as much as he could about his mother, beyond what his young memories held.

“You might recognize them, too, Stiles. They sent us Christmas cards every year. Well, Hanukkah cards, I suppose.” John paused, contemplating. “Holiday cards,” his dad settles on, nodding firmly as if he’s solved a particularly hard case. Stiles rolls his eyes. “We’ve kept in touch with them throughout the years and when you were younger we always had pictures of their family on our fridge. But, well, it was hard to keep up.”

They both grimaced slightly, knowing exactly what stopped it, and while they were talking about his mom more, talking about her sick in the hospital is another thing altogether.

“I think I remember that,” Stiles said eventually. “They had three kids right?”

“Yeah. Laura was the oldest, then Derek, and Cora is your age I think.”

Stiles may have been remembering the pictures of Derek he used to steal from the fridge to hide in his room. It was a totally healthy crush at the time, even if he wrote letters to himself pretending to be Derek and waved said letters to everyone in his fifth-grade classroom, declaring that he and his boyfriend were running away together. Scott wouldn’t talk to him for two days after that stunt – a serious accomplishment at the time – when he thought Stiles was leaving him.

Stiles was patiently waiting for his dad to continue, hand flitting to tap tap tap against the railing. When John made no move to speak again, Stiles pointed to the boat tied next to them and asked, “So which Hale is that?”

His father gave him a very unimpressed look. “Stiles, if I’ve suddenly gained the power to look through walls I will let you know. Now get inside the cabin, it’s getting cold out here.”

Stiles spared one more look at the boat, catching a glimpse of dark hair and tanned skin in the window before his dad sighed and took him by the collar into their cabin.

***

The next morning Stiles was reading _Moby Dick_ on the deck because he found it hilarious how fitting the setting was and burst into sudden fits of laughter whenever his mind wandered away from the story. He got distracted every once in awhile by the sun’s rays hitting the waves and making them shimmer. While it sounded nice in theory, it actually just made Stiles squint harder at his book while getting blinded by the sun’s reflection in the water.

He sneezed for the – hell, he lost track after forty-two – umpteenth time and glared at the sun. He wanted to win this time. Yes, Stiles was holding a staring contest with the sun. There was absolutely nothing out of the ordinary with that scenario. He glared harder at his target, fighting his body’s reaction, squinting up his nose, holding in his breath, desperate to hamper it down.

“Ah – ahhh – auch – chh – choo!” The sneeze sounded like a screaming rhino and ended with Stiles covered in a wet spray of his own snot. He let out a whine and rubbed at his arms fiercely, “Ugh, gross.” He stretched out the word and jumped from foot to foot, piercing the silence induced by the ocean. Stiles glared at the ocean for good measure, too. He knew it was mocking him. “Oh, shut up.”

“I wasn’t gonna say anything.”

Stiles would like to say that he didn’t flail. He would _like_ to say that, but he did. A lot.

“Fuck,” he let out, taking an unsteady breath. “What the hell, dude? Warn a guy.”

There was a man behind him on the dock. A dark-haired, grey-eyed young man with sharp cheekbones and smooth, tan skin that stretched over his bulging arms and Stiles should probably stop ogling him.

“Bless you.” Well, that wasn’t what Stiles was expecting him to say. “Do you need a decongestant? It’s allergy season.”

What was happening? Was this really Stiles’ life? The first time he met Derek Hale is was when he was spasming and sneezing and, oh dear lord, fighting with the sun?

And – oh. Derek Hale. Derek. Hale. Fuck. _Derek Hale._ He was older, less soft around the edges, and was growing a pretty scratchy looking beard but Stiles would recognize those multi-hued eyes anywhere. This was his betrothed. Okay, not really, but ask twelve-year-old Stiles that and he would insist that they would have a destination wedding in Barbados.

Derek’s eyebrows were furrowed and his mouth pursed. Oh. This was one of those social cues, wasn’t it?

“I think I’m allergic to the sun,” Stiles said.

Brilliant, Stiles. You’re radiating intelligence and charm. He was mentally face palming when Derek tossed something to him. Stiles warbled an objection as he tried to catch the mystery object, bouncing it from forearm to elbow to palm to neck until it finally fell onto the boat’s floor. Oh, it was a pair of sunglasses. A pair of very scratched sunglasses, now.

“Oops.”

“How… is that even possible?” Derek was gaping at Stiles like he was some newly discovered creature, a look he was vastly acquainted with, but he noticed that Derek's mouth quirked up a little.

“Eh,” Stiles shrugged. “It’s a Stiles thing, you get used to it. Sorry about your glasses, though.” He bent down to pick them up, loose t-shirt falling to his armpits – which, embarrassing, no one needed to see his pasty skin – and extended the sunglasses to Derek. He shook his head and smiled at Stiles.

“No, that’s okay. You can keep them. Stiles? Is that, like, your… name?” Derek asked, amused.

“Uh, yeah,” replied Stiles, rubbing the back of his neck. “It’s a nickname from my last name–”

“Stilinski,” they both said.

“Huh,” said Stiles. Derek’s cheeks tinged pink and he cleared his throat.

“You – uh – you’re John’s son?”

“Yeah,” he said again.

Awkward silence. Well, this just kept getting weirder. Stiles put the scratched sunglasses on to avoid eye contact. Ah, much better, Stiles could actually see now without the sun blinding him. Only, not better because Stiles could see Derek now in much more detail. His skin was glistening with a thin layer of sweat, his t-shirt stretched taut across his chest, which, not fair.

“I’m Derek.”

Yep, still awkward. Especially if they were going to continue talking, which, apparently, Derek wanted to do. Derek was still on the dock while Stiles stood on his grandfather’s boat so it was less of a conversation and more of them shouting stilted sentences to each other. Stiles was pretty sure that Mr. Lunich was getting out of his cabin to yell at them and Linda from two boats over was not-so-subtly staring at them and writing down every word they uttered for her novel. Stiles had no clue what her novel would be about, but he had a sneaking suspicion that it was a murder mystery. Great.

“Oh, I know.” Stiles winced at the perplexed look Derek threw him. Why had he said that? “I mean. Um. I have a picture of you at home.” Nope. That wasn’t helping. Shit. “It wasn’t just of you! I have pictures of you and your sisters and parents, too.” There, that sounded better.

Only now Derek was backing away a little and looking to the sides as if searching for help. “Um, I think I hear my phone ringing in my cabin. I should be getting back there anyway, actually. I'll, uh, see you around?"

Stiles could only nod, his eyes scrunched up tight, fighting the deep burn of his face.

Right. Cool. Stiles officially scared off an MMA fighter so badly that he lied about hearing a phone call from a highly questionable distance. _He could hear his phone ringing?_  Stiles slapped a hand to his face and groaned. He didn’t think it went too bad. Of course, Derek’s rapidly retreating figure begged to differ.

Stiles guessed that destination wedding would have to wait a little longer.

***

Stiles was determined to rectify their last interaction. Well, okay, _only_ interaction. Stiles cringed because that just made it so much worse. But he had a plan. One that may involve spying. Thank god his dad packed those binoculars for the trip. They had tried using them to find dolphins but apparently they weren’t around here at this time of year. John was mercifully still asleep in his cot when Stiles snuck out, clutching the binoculars tightly in his hand. Hopefully his dad would be happy to find that they were going to good use. Stiles would just refrain from telling him what that use was. Yep. Solid plan.

Stiles was determined to prove to Derek that he wasn’t a crazy stalker after what he’s been cringingly referring to as The Incident. So, like any other normal person, he’d decided to follow him. Unfortunately, Stiles didn’t know what time Derek got up in the morning so it’s kind of a shot in the dark. He did some basic calculations based off of what time the lights in Derek’s boat went out the night before – eleven o’clock – and guessed that he would be up sometime around six or seven. Which meant Stiles got up at five that morning.

 _It’s not that bad, it’s really not_ , he tried to convince himself. _Look, you’ll even be able to enjoy the sunrise. Who wouldn’t enjoy that?_

Him, apparently. He wouldn’t enjoy that. Rubbing the sleep away from his puffy eyes, Stiles was forced to admit to himself that he may also be allergic to sunrises. Why couldn’t he have nice things?

It was cold that morning, the dampness in the air clinging to his skin. Sliding himself down into a settled crouch behind the wall of _Claudia_ , Stiles peered over the top with his binoculars and waited. And waited. And waited.

He checked his watch and the still-dim skyline to gauge how long he had been sitting there only to see that it had been a grand total of ten minutes. Great. Stiles let out a spectacular sigh and tried to get more comfortable, which was nearly impossible while pressed up against a myriad of hard surfaces. Stiles took a deep breath to relax into his new position and tried to keep his eyes open.

The glare of the sun jerked Stiles awake sometime later. His legs had become pretzeled together in his sleep and it took him longer than he was willing to admit to untangle himself from the awkward position he had fallen asleep into. His knees were sore where they were pressed into the floorboards and he was quickly losing circulation to his toes when he finally saw movement in Derek’s boat.

“Thank God,” grumbled Stiles, rubbing the blood back into his calves.

There was no light in the boat so Stiles couldn’t see Derek’s movements until he stepped out into the early morning light. He was wearing loose jogging shorts and nothing else. Stiles let out a loud groan and dropped his head against the side of the boat a few times. He was perversely satisfied each time the contact made a solid _plunk_.

“Ow.” Plunk. “Ow.” Plunk. “Ow.” Of course Derek was shirtless. It’s like he was torturing Stiles on purpose. The sun’s orange rays hit all his bare skin in just the right way to make Stiles’ mouth water. The light reflected in his eyes glowed bright blue. _Huh, I thought his eyes were more of a hazel grey_ , Stiles contemplated. _Must be the sun_.

Derek stretched his arms over his head, accentuating the rippling muscles on display and when he bent forward to stretch to his toes Stiles was so lightheaded he thought he might pass out right there. What a sight that would make, he could just imagine his dad waking up and finding Stiles flat on his back with a pair of binoculars in his hands right across from their hot young neighbor. It would take him exactly point two seconds to connect all the dots.

“Oh!” Stiles was jarred out of his thoughts when he realized that Derek was walking out of his line of sight. “Shoot, shoot, shoot.” He scrambled to his feet, dizzy for a second too long, and muttered expletives in sync to his scurried footfalls as he followed Derek. Discreetly, of course.

By the time he jumped from the pier and onto the sidewalk, he could see Derek’s ruffled hair disappearing behind a building at the end of the block. Stiles did not run. That made him sound desperate. He preferred the word _soared_. It made him sound more heroic and likelier of being on the cover of a romance novel. With chest hair and muscles. What? A guy could dream.

Evidently, Stiles didn’t plan this out far enough because Derek was getting into a car and the Jeep Stiles and John drove into town in was parked half a mile away. Sighing in mighty exasperation, he threw his hands in the air and turned to walk back to his isolation chamber – oops, he meant boat.

“What’s your name?”

Stiles whipped his head in the direction of the voice and found a girl about his age with dark hair and strong features. She called out to him again when he pointed to himself in an unspoken question.

“Yes, _you_ ,” the girl rolled her eyes and groaned in mild annoyance. Unfortunately, it’s a reaction Stiles was very used to.

He sighed again and resigned himself to becoming the butt of some joke and ambled over to her. She looked expectantly at him and had her eyebrows raised. Oh. Right. His name.

“Stiles.”

A smirk ignited in her eyes – _H_ _onestly, how can someone smirk with their_ eyes, Stiles thought – and she regarded him with a new fascination.

“Cora. Why were you following my brother?”

Oh shit. Cora. As in Cora Hale, and wow did Stiles feel like he was having a de ja vous moment. Because it was bad enough that Derek had met him when he was battling the sun, his sister had to meet him when he was stalking her brother. Fan-freaking-tastic.

“Hi. Uh, your, um. Your brother?” That’s it, Stiles, plead ignorance. Only it wasn’t really working on her. Cora only crossed her arms and threw an unimpressed look in his face.

Fortunately, before he was forced to reply, a tall robust woman came up to them. Her skin was marred by years spent in the sun, making her eyes stand out bright in contrast to her complexion.

“Cora, where are your manners? Introduce me to your friend,” she said. The woman’s voice was lofty and lyrical, smooth enough to glide into awaiting ears but full enough to command a room.

Cora grimaced.

“He’s not a friend, mom. We just met.” Surprisingly, she left out the pesky detail of Stiles following her brother. It eased him while concurrently putting him on edge, waiting for the other shoe to drop.

The woman raised an eyebrow at her daughter and Stiles suddenly felt smug being on the observing side of the Hale Brows.

“Mom, this is – uh.”

“Stiles,” he smiled when Cora gave him a grateful look.

“Ah, well. Nice to finally meet you, Stiles. I’m Talia Hale.” Both Cora and Stiles turned inquisitive looks her way. “Cora, this is John’s son. Stiles Stilinski.”

“Your parents named you Stiles Stilinski?” Cora’s eyes would hold pity if they weren’t currently filled with horror. “That must have sucked.”

“Um, no. It’s a nickname that I chose myself, actually,” said Stiles. He reveled in the panic that flashed across Cora’s face.

“Stiles, we were just on our way over to see your father. We’d like to invite you two over for dinner tomorrow night,” said Talia.

“Oh! Uh, yeah I think we can do that.” Not like they had any actual plans for this vacation, other than sitting on a boat.

“Great. Dinner’s at six, but come by around five so we can all catch up,” said Talia.

“Uh…” Stiles started.

“Don’t worry, sweetie. Your dad knows how to get there,” said Talia. She patted his arm lightly before turning to walk away. It seemed like that was that, and Stiles was left standing there watching them walk away all while wondering how exactly this happened.

***

The Hales lived on the edge of town, just past a graveyard – and if that wasn’t an omen, Stiles didn’t know what was. John was driving the Jeep over and Stiles tried to be okay with it. After all, it was originally his parents’ car to begin with and they probably knew more about the vehicle than Stiles ever could.

Realistically, Stiles _was_  okay with it. Normally he wouldn’t let anyone even think about driving Roscoe but his dad was different. He trusted his dad with this Jeep because both of them knew that it was more than just a Jeep, it kept the memory of Claudia alive with every rev of the engine, every slide of the wiper blades. Of course, that didn’t stop Stiles’ deeply-rooted instincts from making aborted movements towards his father each time they rolled over a bump in the road.

“Stiles, relax,” his dad urged.

“ _Relax?_  Dad, these roads are trying to kill Roscoe! When was the last time the town repaved this road?”

John pursed his lips and Stiles could tell that he wanted to say something but was holding back. He hasn’t seen that look on his dad’s face since that mountain lion death the Sheriff’s office was stuck on for weeks, and that was years ago.

Stiles was about to make a comment on it but John took a sudden turn off of the road and onto a rough dirt path. They passed a wooden mailbox on a post, painted red and with “HALE” in capital letters emblazoned on it.

“Oh,” Stiles released a quick breath.

The path to the Hale house was long and winding, going slightly uphill until it flattened out into a wide clearing. The house itself was large – not intimidatingly large like a manor, but more like it was built to accommodate as many people as possible. It actually looked pretty cozy, if Stiles was being honest.

They were quickly overtaken by a group of screaming kids, rushing out of the house and running directly for them. Stiles felt paralyzed between staying in the shelter of the Jeep and jumping out to protect it from the barrage of kids.

“Uh…” he looked to his dad for help, only to see him already getting out of the car. “Cool. Cool cool cool cool cool. Cool cool.”

The kids latched onto any article of clothing or piece of flesh on them that they could get to and started to pull – dragging, really – them towards the door. John only laughed good-naturedly, and Stiles wondered not for the first time just how well his dad knew this family. He looked completely at ease here.

“Oskar, Lena, Daisy, guys stop.” Stiles looked up to see a young woman with curly dark locks and olive skin walk down the front steps. She knelt down in front of one of the children, a few inches taller than the rest, with skin the color of ochre and a rounded nose.

“Ollie, come on, little dude. You’re supposed to be the role model, here,” she told him. Her voice was gentle but pleading. He scrunched up his nose at her and Stiles pressed a fist to his mouth, keeping his giant grin hidden, because holy adorableness.

“Laura,” the kid, Ollie, dragged her name out and groaned. “When you said I was in charge, I thought it would be a whole lot funner than _this_.”

Laura smiled at him knowingly, “Tell me about it, kid.”

Standing up, she stretched her arm out to shake John’s hand. “Hi, I’m Laura. Talia’s daughter? You must be John and Stiles. It’s nice to finally meet you guys.”

John smiled warmly at her and Stiles gave a small wave from behind him. She leaned forward and held a hand to the side of her mouth, before stage-whispering to them, “My mom still has your family Christmas cards up. I haven’t heard my parents talk about you guys in a couple years but they’ve been non-stop reminiscing since she heard that you were coming back into town.”

“Well, I hope the stories hold up to the reality. I’m not as, uh, adventurous as I once was,” says John. Stiles cuts his eyes to him, because _what?_ Adventurous is not a word he would ever apply to his dad. Sure, he was the sheriff back in Beacon Hills, but Stiles only saw his dad fill out paperwork and look exhausted. Stiles, on the other hand, took it upon himself to use his dad’s resources for his own adventures. Huh, maybe they were more alike than he thought.

“Come on inside.” Laura led them through the entryway and Stiles was immediately hit with the aroma of sautéed onions and mushrooms. He wandered into the kitchen and the smell of oven roasted potatoes coalesced with the rest of the dinner. Stiles hummed in appreciation.

“That smells heavenly,” he crooned.

“Thanks,” said a familiar voice.

Stiles’ eyes snapped open and he’s face to face with Derek. Oh, right. It’s not like Stiles didn’t know Derek would more than likely be there tonight. He just pushed that badgering thought to the side each time it popped up – and it had popped often – because thinking about Derek made his heart go into overdrive. Kind of like it was now.

“Derek!” Stiles croaked. “Oh, um, hi.” He let a nervous chuckle slip past his lips before clamping down on it.

Derek was looking at him openly, his lips curved slightly in amusement.

“Hi,” said Derek.

“John? That can’t be you! The Johnny I knew could never be the silver fox standing before me now.”

Um, what.

A burly figure came barrelling through the kitchen started slapping Stiles’ dad on the back, utterly beaming at him. The two men stood there slapping each other’s bodies and grinning wildly, faces flushed, roaring with laughter over nothing.

Stiles and Derek shared an awkward look at the spectacle in front of them.

“Damon, you haven’t changed a bit, have you?” John barked out a giddy  – _giddy_ , what even was Stiles’ life? – laugh before pulling the man in for another slapping hug. Stiles hoped they weren’t hurting each other in their enthusiasm.

Talia came up behind Derek and placed a hand on his shoulder, smiling at John and Damon before shifting her gaze to Derek and Stiles.

“Why don’t you two finish up in the kitchen while we catch up. Cora can help, too, if she stops hiding in her room. Laura’s busy with the kids,” Talia was leading them further into the kitchen where Derek had been prepping the salad.

Before he knew it, Stiles was alone in the kitchen with Derek. They heard shouting from the living room before spurts of boisterous laughter took its place.

“Sounds like they’re having a good time,” said Stiles.

“Yeah, my dad was really excited when John called him.” Grabbing the lettuce in the colander, Derek starts chopping it.

“My dad called your dad? When?”

“Um, about a month or two ago? Here, slice thinly,” said Derek, shoving a red onion into Stiles’ unsuspecting hand. Stiles shrugged and grabbed the knife off of the cutting board, _thinly slicing_  the onion.

After a moment of silence, comfortable for Derek, excruciating for Stiles, Stiles breaks. “So, um, about the other day…”

Derek raises an inquisitive eyebrow.

“Listen, I’m not usually that – weird,” Stiles blurted.

Derek snuffled a chortle, replying, “I didn’t think you were weird.”

“It’s just – wait really?” Stiles was genuinely shocked. Of course he was weird, his name was _Stiles_  for Pete’s sake. “Everyone thinks I’m weird,” he argued.

“I didn’t. I thought it was… uh, nevermind,” Derek broke off and ducked his head.

Stiles veered to catch his eyes and noticed that his neck was red. He caught himself wondering how deep that blush could get – and how far it traveled down – before reining himself in. He swallowed, licked his lips.

“You thought it was what?” Stiles questioned quietly.

Derek cleared his throat before he grunted, “Cute.”

“What?”

“I thought it was cute,” Derek mumbled.

“Oh. Um. Thank you” said Stiles, biting back his smile.

It took awhile for them to get comfortable with each other, each brush of elbows in the crowded prep area making the other withdraw. But once Stiles let his sarcasm loose, they discovered their shared sense of humor. Apparently the dude had a biting wit, something that made Stiles extremely happy.

They got onto the topic of college and Derek shared that he was going to UCSB.

“No way! Dude! That’s where I’m going! In the fall. I just got my roommate assignment last week,” Stiles announced.

“Really? Congratulations. Hope you like it there, I really do. I only have a year left so I’m kind of in that bittersweet phase right now.”

“What are you studying?” asked Stiles.

“Marine biology. That’s why I’m living on the boat this summer. I mean besides the privacy,” grinned Derek. “I’m actually taking samples of different algae to study for my thesis.”

Looking at Derek right then, talking about his passion, Stiles thought he fell a little bit in love.

***

Dinner was loud. The whole Hale clan was there, cousins and aunts and uncles. Everyone talked over each other and there were squabbles among the children – Derek, Laura, and Cora included – while they all ate their food, conversations started and stopped and laughter broke out intermittently. Stiles loved it.

At the end, when everyone continued talking even though their plates had long since been empty, Talia invited them both to stay the night. Looking at his dad and the smile that’s been plastered on his face the entire night, how could he not agree?

***

Stiles woke up with a start, breath caught in his throat. He looked around at his surroundings, trying to find the source of his interrupted slumber. Seeing no immediate threat, he lay back in bed, clutching at his racing heart.

Talia had given John and Stiles each their own guest room – how big was this house, anyway? – much to Stiles’ appreciation. After spending a week together in the cramped cabin, with the two cots built over one another like bunk beds, Stiles was starting to get claustrophobic. Having a bed all to himself again, and an actual _mattress_ , felt like heaven.

Stiles was slipping back into sleep, cradled by the feather and memory pillows alike, when he heard that noise again. A howl? What could have been howling like that? They were still in California so it couldn’t be wolves, though Stiles had already pushed that thought to the side. The howls were too high-pitched to be a wolf, anyway. Maybe a fox?

Making his way to the window, Stiles tripped over crumpled his jeans on the floor before righting himself again. From his vantage point on the second floor, he could see a group of – dogs? It was a group of four or five animals running around in the backyard. Whatever they were, they had a lot of energy. They were running, and sprinting, and jumping off of each other’s backs, howls echoing off of the window and shaking the glass.

Stiles was just about to go wake up one of the Hales and inform them of the situation in their backyard when he saw a beam of light. The light swelled on the grass below him where he saw it coming from the house. A tall figure shadowed in the light walked out into the yard, much to the delight of the animals. Their howls became excited shrieks and they began shooting off in different directions. There was an annoyed growl – Stiles couldn’t tell which of the animals it came from and didn’t even know animals could express annoyance – and the figure started collecting each of the animals. Literally just picking them up from the back of their necks and settling them under his arm. Not that ‘settled’ really described them, they were wriggling and twisting, trying to get out of the hold.

The others, who had yet to be picked up, darted towards the figure. Stiles held his breath as they drew nearer and nearer, only to release it when the two animals hopped on the figure’s back, each landing on a shoulder, and stayed. There was no attack, no fight, just… Stiles didn’t know what exactly to call it.

When the figure turned around, Stiles saw that the animals had groups of hair in their paws on the figure’s head like the reins of a horse. It was then that Stiles discovered that the figure was a man. As in human. As in a human living in this house was willingly taking wild animals into the house like they did it every night.

Stiles stood there staring at the backyard, even after the door closed and the light disappeared and the yard remained empty and silent. It was a long, long time before he resigned himself to have dreamt the whole ordeal and made his way back to bed.

Even after that, it was a long time before sleep clawed its way into him.

***

The days after that started to blur. Stiles spent more time on Derek’s boat than he ever thought he would. He met Derek’s friends Boyd and Erica and immediately bonded with Erica over their love of comic books. Boyd and Derek were forced to watch them both argue over fictional characters and multiple universes neither of them had a chance of understanding.

But it was okay. Even though Boyd and Derek didn’t contribute to those conversations, they were still active in other ways. Boyd would make a sarcastic joke just to incite the wrathful glares of Erica and Stiles, and watched with a smirk at how quickly they would rush to defend their favorite characters. When Stiles got particularly excited about something, he would talk with his hands, arms flying and flailing and sometimes hitting Derek in the face. It was his fault for sitting so close, though.

It was one of these mundane days, the sun playing hide-and-seek with the clouds and the sounds of waves hitting the boat lulling them into a deep sense of security. Derek and Stiles had originally been alone on his boat, playing word association games as they lay next to each other on the deck. Over the course of that perfect hour, Stiles had noticed how close their arms were, how their bodies followed. In the silence that followed after their third round of ‘I’m Thinking of a Word’ Stiles sat up and looked over at Derek where he lay with one arm cushioned under his head and another stretched above him to shield the sting of the sun.

Derek was squinting up at Stiles and after a moment passed he asked curiously, “What are you looking at?”

Stiles blushed when he realized he had been staring.

“You,” replied Stiles.

A mischievous grin slid onto Derek’s face and he sat up, too.

“And what, exactly is so interesting about my face?” Derek’s face was close to Stiles – _That’s what's so interesting at the moment_ , Stiles couldn’t help but think – and his voice had that playful lilt to it that Stiles loved.

Stiles leaned in closer, a matching smile tugging at his face and warmth flooding his gut. He was just about to reply _everything_ when Cora jumped down onto the deck in front of them. Stiles sputtered and sprang away, his face flushing ruddy and red.

“Are we interrupting?” Cora sang. An evil, evil smile graced her face.

“We?” Derek asked accusingly.

“We,” Laura affirmed. And – _great_  – Boyd and Erica trailed behind her.

Derek winced apologetically at Stiles and Stiles shrugged in return. What else could you do?

After they all settled themselves around on the deck, Stiles went up to get the cooler from inside the cabin. The sun was at its highest and Stiles was parched. Grabbing two ice-cold water bottles – the others could get up themselves after interrupting them – for himself and Derek, Stiles turned to walk back out.

“– full moon –” Laura was saying, and Stiles paused. “Mom wants us to run with the pack this time, so she’s having Peter watch the kids.”

Okay, there were lots of reasons to talk about packs and full moons. Plenty. Tons. Like, um. Stiles couldn’t think of any now but… But something was coming back to him. Images of furry animals howling at the moon and playing with a human’s hair like the human was _part of their pack_. Stiles was starting to hyperventilate and dropped the bottles of water.

 _Werewolves aren’t real, Stiles_ , he told himself.

“Are you okay?” Derek was in the doorway to the cabin and looked at Stiles with such unbridled concern. Stiles felt his chest twist at just how gentle Derek’s voice was with him. Even if werewolves were real, even if all the Hales were werewolves, Stiles knew without a doubt that he’s safe with them.

Of course, that didn’t stop his head from reeling at the idea of _werewolves_ existing. He didn’t know what werewolves meant, besides the claws and furry faces, what abilities they had. Could Derek smell his panic attack looming? Could he hear his heartbeat? Could he read his thoughts? No, of course not, that wouldn’t make sense.

Stiles shook his head, _none_  of this made sense. Even though things were clicking into place and it explained things that had no reasonable explanation, werewolves weren’t real. It couldn’t make sense.

Derek’s eyebrows were furrowed and his mouth was pursed with worry. Reaching out to Stiles, he rested a hand on his bicep, gently rubbing the anxiety away from Stiles’ tense features.

“Stiles, what’s wrong?” Derek asked.

“I...uh. Just–”

How was Stiles supposed to explain this to him? _I think you and your family are werewolves?_ He took a deep breath and let it out. He was probably wrong. It was probably something completely normal and innocuous.

“I’m fine. I think I’m gonna head out, though. I’ll come over tomorrow?”

Derek frowned, but nodded his head.

“Yeah, okay. Let me know if–” Derek paused, rethinking his words, before saying, “Let me know if you need anything, Stiles. I’ll be right here.”

Stiles nodded. His panic attack wasn’t the looming danger it had been when Derek first found him but he still needed to be alone. Stiles needed to think and process everything right now, before he decided to do anything.

“I’ll see you tomorrow,” said Stiles.

And with one last lingering look, he left.

***

Of course, when you’re boat neighbors with the local werewolf, leaving doesn’t provide much actual distance. Stiles needled his dad into taking the boat out somewhere reclusive for some fishing.  

They were cruising away from the marina when Stiles called Scott. He was hoping the time away would help clear his mind but thinking about what he was going to say to Scott only reignited his nerves.

“I think they’re werewolves, Scott! Either that or I’m going insane.”

There was a slight pause on the receiving end of Stiles’ outburst until Scott cleared throat.

“Well I hate to break it to you, Stiles, but you’re not sounding very sane right now.”

And of course those would be the first words Scott said to him. Stiles ignored the fact that his own first words to Scott had been ‘I think they’re werewolves.’ Honestly, Scott should expect nothing less from Stiles at this point in their friendship.

It sounded like Scott was trying to cover up his snickering and Stiles threw an unimpressed look at his phone. That’ll show him.

“They were talking about their plans _for the full moon_ , Scott! How else do you explain that?”

“Maybe they, oh I don’t know, want to look at the full moon,” Scott deadpanned. “The skies must be pretty clear that far out from the city, everyone in town probably has a telescope.”

“Okay, well...the wolf faces! The kids had _claws_ , and furry faces, and when they howled, Scott. They did _not_ sound like kids.”

“Stiles–”

“Don’t you dare say I’m overreacting, Scott.”

Scott spoke right over Stiles’ words, “– I think you’re overreacting, Stiles.”

“So, what? You want me to prove it? Fine, I’ll prove it.” Stiles huffs into the phone and the hair on his forehead blows up with the breath.

“I did not ask you to prove it to me, Stiles.” Stiles could practically see Scott squeezing the bridge of his nose. He sounded like a dad with a toddler. Stiles screwed his face up in disgust because that was all sorts of wrong.

“Thanks for your help, Scott. This was all your idea and I couldn’t do what I’m about to do without your support. Thanks!”

And with that, Stiles hung up on a very disgruntled Scott, a plan already forming in his mind.

***

Stiles went to Derek’s boat the next day like he promised he would. Derek wouldn’t stop eyeing him worriedly and Stiles swallowed down the guilt he felt keeping things from Derek. They may not have known each other very long, but he felt closer to Derek than he ever thought he could be to another person. They shared with each other their fears and insecurities, their hopes and dreams, no matter how crazy they seemed.

Stiles knew how scared Derek was of disappointing his family, especially his parents. He knew how Derek suspected his parents wanted him to take over the harbor and how he doubted he would be any good at it. He knew that Derek wanted to get his masters and start a marine conservatory.

Derek knew that Stiles’ mom was the main reason this vacation even happened. He knew that Stiles sometimes had nightmares that he’s the reason people around him die, hurt, and leave. He knew how Stiles had struggled with ADHD growing up and how that manifested into panic attacks once his mom passed away. He knew how Stiles had clung to a childhood crush desperately to keep some part of his childhood – and with it, his mother – alive.

Derek knew how loyal and stubborn and brave and reckless Stiles was. Stiles said he didn’t know what he wanted to do with his life, but that he wanted to help people. Derek knew he would.

The days blurred together and Stiles couldn’t seem to keep away from Derek. He knew the full moon was pulling closer, that he still had to find out where the Hales planned to spend it. It was the easiest way to verify once and for all that they were, in fact, just human and Stiles’ imagination was wilder than even he had assumed. He knew all of this. And yet.

Stiles and Derek spent more and more time together. Because even though Stiles suspected he and his family might be a pack of werewolves, Stiles was pulled towards him. He couldn’t keep away, and while his dad might have said otherwise if he knew, it wasn’t because of the intrigue or danger. Stiles knew he was safe with them.

It was just Derek.

Derek and his smile so bright it rivaled the sun, casting everything and everyone around him in a soft glow. Derek and the scruff that grew along his jaw without him noticing, how scratchy and soft it was when Stiles indulged in the urge to run his fingers through it. Derek and the crinkles around his eyes when he looked at Stiles.

It was just Derek.

***

On the day of the full moon, everything was eerily normal. Derek spent the morning away from the marina but came back by lunchtime. When Stiles asked, he said he’d been out shopping. A likely story.

It wasn’t until twilight that Stiles heard Boyd drop by. Stiles’ dad was lounging on one of the uncomfortable fold-up chairs out on the deck and reading a case file – Stiles would have words with him later, this was supposed to be a work-free vacation – and Stiles kept trying to sneak looks at the papers over John’s shoulders.

When Stiles looked over at their neighbor’s boat, he could see that Boyd was busy loading big plastic tubs onto it. While Stiles’ crime-rattled brain immediately spewed out _Drugs!_  Stiles thought that an international werewolf drug cartel was only _kind of_  pushing it on the believe-o-meter.

During Stiles’ internal monologue, Derek had come out to help Boyd. He watched as together they brought four tubs and six bags of ice onto the boat. The condensation from the bags sunk into the fabric of Derek’s shirt where he had flung them over his shoulders. Stiles couldn’t help but notice how the result made Derek’s shirt damp and cling to his muscles. He would not gape. He would not.

Derek and Boyd were getting ready to leave the harbor and Stiles knew it was time to make his move.

“I think I’m gonna go for a walk,” said Stiles.

His father barely looked up from his papers but hummed to let Stiles know he had been heard.

Stiles wasn’t going for a walk, though. Instead he stepped as silently as possible towards Derek’s boat and dropped to his knees on the bow. Glancing to his sides to make sure he hadn’t been made, Stiles shuffled over to the plastic tubs where they were stacked on top of each other. They provided enough cover for Stiles to relax against and remain unseen.

Stiles didn’t know how long the boat ride would be so he settled in to enjoy the soft breeze as it brushed across his cheeks. Unsurprisingly, conversation between Boyd and Derek was minimal. And by minimal, Stiles meant nonexistent. They shared a few silent looks with each other but not much else.

They got to a corner of an island, and Stiles could see a small beach surrounded by forestry. Boyd and Derek were busy docking the boat and Stiles took advantage of their preoccupation. He tried to shift quietly away from the plastic tubs, knowing that Derek and Boyd would probably unload them right away.

Derek and Boyd were getting off the boat, but before Derek stepped off he said, “You can come out now, Stiles.”

Stiles whispered a curse. And then Derek could see his head, mussed up hair and all, peaking up from behind the plastic tubs filled with food for the night.

“How long have you known I was here?”

“I’m a werewolf, aren’t I?” At that, Stiles gasped and his eyes quadrupled in size. Derek tried not to laugh. “You weren’t that far from my boat when you were on the phone with Scott. I don’t know if you know this, but you tend to shout when you’re flustered.”

“I do not shout when I’m flustered!” Stiles shouted.

“I mean it’s not like you were in the middle of the ocean whispering on the phone. My hearing is good, but not that good.”

Stiles was rooted in place, unmoving from his spot on the boat. Derek took pity on him and walked back over. Reaching a hand out to Stiles, he suddenly looked nervous.

“Look, uh. My mom wanted to talk to you about everything. We’re not going to hurt you, Stiles,” he said gently. Stiles’ head shot up.

“I know you’re not going to hurt me,” said Stiles.

Derek couldn’t hear a lie in his heartbeat and he tried not to let hope overcome him. It was a useless fight. This was Stiles, everything about him made Derek hope.

“You would never hurt me, Derek. I know that,” Stiles reiterated.

“Good,” Derek’s voice came out rough, his heart lodged in his throat.

“Look. As touching as this is, Talia’s waiting for us, Derek.”

Both Stiles and Derek whipped their heads to see Boyd carrying the last plastic tub off the boat.

“Right, uh,” Derek steals another look at Stiles. Before he can talk himself out of it, he takes Stiles’ hand in his own and, together, they make their way onto the beach.

Heads turned as soon as their feet touched the sand, some familiar to Stiles from his time at the Hale house, others he had yet to meet. Derek tugged him closer while they walked towards a tent, passing a bonfire surrounded by people.

The tent was lit from the inside and set up on the edge of the beach, where the ground transitioned to soil. Derek squeezed his hand before they entered and Stiles was grateful. He knew logically that he shouldn’t be nervous, but it seemed like this made things different. This made everything that had been warring inside Stiles real. _Werewolves_  were real.

Although, this could just be an entirely too elaborate prank. Surprisingly enough, the thought didn’t calm Stiles.

“Stiles, we’ve been waiting for you.” Talia sat behind a fold-up table surrounded by chairs. When she saw Derek and Stiles enter, she stood. “Thanks for coming tonight. Why don’t you have a seat.”

He looked to Derek and wondered how exactly they had planned this when Stiles was the one who stowed away on Derek’s boat.

“Uh, yeah, no problem,” said Stiles, sitting.

When he noticed the seat next to him remained empty, he looked up in confusion. Derek was bending his head to fit through the tent flap on his way out and Stiles felt himself tense up. Derek must have noticed – probably some werewolfy thing – because he popped his head back in and quirked an eyebrow at his mom.

“Derek,” Talia spoke. “Why don’t you stay with us?”

If having Derek next to him made him breathe easier, Stiles wasn’t going to think too much about it.

“Derek seems to think it’s imperative to share with you our abilities.” She shares a meaningful look with her son before continuing.

“Stiles, you know me as Talia but I’m also known as Alpha Hale. Hillside Port has been Hale territory since the early 1800s, meaning we protect it from outside dangers. We’re mostly born-wolves but some have chosen the bite as well.”

At that moment, John comes into the tent and bends down to give Stiles a hug.

“Hey, kiddo.”

“ _Dad?_ ”

John looks towards Talia and back to his son.

“Oh. I’m assuming we haven’t gotten to that part then?”

From the face Stiles was making, no. No, they had not.

It took about an hour, which was pretty quick if Stiles had any say in it, for them to get through all the necessary information. Stiles was still reeling from finding out that his dad had apparently known all along. He dad, his father, his flesh and blood, _knew_  about werewolves and the supernatural world and never told him.

John explained how he was a deputy when he and Claudia first visited. He told Stiles about the case the department had been working on before they left. A man had been found dead on the edge of the preserve in Beacon Hills, attacked by what they had thought was a mountain lion.

At some point during that first summer, John told Talia and Damon about the case – Stiles gave a dramatic gasp upon hearing this – and noticed how they had grown quiet and withdrawn. John had been worried that they were somehow involved and started following them.

“When I looked at their records in the system, Talia had a charge of disturbance of the peace–”

“I was trying to stop them from arresting–” Talia interrupted.

“And Peter had a charge of physical assault–” John continued.

“ – _that’s_  who I was trying to keep from getting arrested,” said Talia.

“Whoa whoa whoa, hold up.” Stiles held his palms in the air, halting their progression in the story. “Peter assaulted someone and you tried to get him out of it? That doesn’t– I don’t think I’m comfortable with that.”

John shifted in his chair to face Stiles more clearly before speaking again.

“People in Hillside Port don’t exactly love the Hale family. Some of them have picked up on their… peculiar tendencies and taunt them for it. They haven’t figured out that they’re werewolves, but they know the Hales are different. What happened with Peter – four men had cornered Peter and when he fought back, they pressed charges. Of course, because Peter had healed, it seemed clear to the police who the aggressor was.”

“Even if it was four against one,” Talia muttered bitterly.

“At this point, we knew John was following us. It was only a matter of time before he found out about the pack. So I told my father, my Alpha, that we should let your parents into our pack.”

“ _What?_ ” Stiles and Derek sputtered out in unison.

“Wait, why didn’t you know that?” Stiles asked Derek.

“Let me finish,” said Talia. “I told him how pivotal it would be to share information with someone from the police. That John would disclose with them any signs of rogue omegas – like that ‘mountain lion’ attack the department had been working on. And in return, we would provide answers and protection for John when anything supernatural came into play.”

Talia raised her hand to stop Stiles from his impending outburst again. Stiles huffed before leaning back in his chair with his arms crossed, ready to listen. It was his dad who spoke this time.

“When Alpha Emerson let us in on the secret, he invited me and your mother into the pack. We lived hours away but we still felt a bond, even when we weren’t here. It’s my fault that we’ve become so estranged. After Claudia passed away, I pulled away from the people I loved. I’m sorry I’ve deprived you of that. Of your pack, Stiles.”

“So. Wait. I’m pack?” Stiles asked.

“Technically, yes. But only if you want to be,” Talia answered. “This is a lot to think about, Stiles. Why don’t you take some time to let it sink it. I think Laura has some marshmallows ready for s’mores by the bonfire if you’d like some.”

Stiles left the tent after sharing a long and intense hug with his dad. Derek followed after him.

“Hey, um. Do you want to go for a walk? With me?”

The fact that Derek still looked nervous, even after finding out they were literally packmates, made Stiles’ chest flutter.

“Yeah,” breathed Stiles. He held his hand out to Derek, a shy grin tugging at his features. Derek rolled his eyes at him before taking his hand in his own. They both laughed as they made their way onto a path through the trees.

***

“Can’t they still hear us?” Stiles asked when Derek stopped just a minute or so out of the camp.

“They won’t be listening,” Derek said, not really looking at him.

“Why not?”

“Uh,” a bright flush grew on Derek’s cheeks and he ducked his head, rubbing the back of his neck. “I asked them not to?”

Oh. Okay. Stiles let out a nervous laugh and felt his own face burn. He bit his lip to keep his smile under wraps. Apparently he wasn’t doing a very good job of it because when Derek looked up at him, a wide grin slipped onto his face.

Derek took a step towards him but stopped, seeming a bit unsure of himself. Stiles took the step forward for the both of them.

“So I just have one question,” he said.

Derek looked concerned for him, his brows furrowing and mouth tilted.

“Only one?” Derek sounded incredulous. Stiles laughed.

“Okay, well, maybe more than one. Probably closer to a thousand. But right now I only want to ask you one.” Stiles looked at Derek with a tender smile and, wow, they had gotten a lot closer than they were a moment before. He could see the gold flecks in Derek’s eyes and the sweep of his dark lashes against his cheeks.

“Okay,” Derek said softly. His fingers were grazing Stiles’ jaw.

Stiles cleared his throat, trying to remember what exactly he wanted to say.

“Did you bring me here because your Alpha asked you to or because you wanted me to know?”

Derek looked back and forth between Stiles’ eyes with an unspoken question on his face. His breathing had become quicker and he licked his lips, looking at the ground, before answering.

“I – um.” His voice grew quieter as he rushed the rest of sentence out, “I wanted you here. I wanted you to – I need you to know before – ”

“Before what, Derek?” Stiles was trying to get Derek to look at him again, his hand holding Derek’s chin and pulling him up to face him.

“Before I –” he released a deep breath and closed his eyes. Stiles watched him take a few calming breaths, relishing the fact that he was privy to seeing Derek like this. Derek was trusting Stiles to see him when he was emotionally vulnerable. It made Stiles' heartbeat stutter. Derek’s eyes blinked opened and stared openly at Stiles.

And then he was kissing him. It was a bit unexpected and Stiles wasn’t prepared for it, but he was definitely on board. Making an involuntary noise in the back of his throat – Stiles will never admit to how desperate it sounded – he threw his arms around Derek’s neck and pulled him closer.

Derek smiled into the kiss and placed his hands on Stiles’ waist, his shirt riding up just enough for Derek’s palms to rest hot against Stiles’ skin. Stiles fisted Derek’s shirt and tried pulling him closer, even though their bodies were already flush with each other.

Their lips unlatched just enough for them to gather their breath, before diving back in again. Derek tugged Stiles’ bottom lip into his mouth and they both moaned at the new feeling. Stiles tilted his head back, somehow landing against the solid bark of a tree and when did they move to press up against a tree?

His thoughts immediately scattered as soon as Derek latched onto the skin just below his ear, licking into the groove of his neck before ducking back in to bite the wet skin.

“Derek,” groaned Stiles, digging his nails into the man’s shoulders and writhing up against his body, slotting their hips together. They both moaned and Derek clenched his fingers into Stiles’ lower back, holding them together. He pulled his head back to look at Stiles, blinking his eyes into focus.

“Maybe we should hold off on this until we aren’t surrounded by forestry and my family.”

Huh, good point. Not to mention that Stiles’ dad was here, too.

“Yeah, yeah, you’re right.” At Derek’s snort, Stiles scoffed. “I didn’t say you were always right.” Stiles let a smile slip into his voice, “But. Maybe just this once.”

While they agreed to pause on the sweet lovemaking, Stiles was reluctant to release his hold on Derek. He just wanted to stay touching him, as ridiculous as that sounded. Stiles loved the feeling of Derek, any part of Derek, resting against him. But something was nagging at him, tinging this moment with stress.

“What is it?” And of course Derek could tell something was wrong. The werewolf could probably smell it, the weirdo.

“It’s nothing–” Stiles stopped when he saw Derek’s raised eyebrow. Fine. “Just– What is this? Like, are we…”

“Whatever you want us to be, Stiles.” Derek said the words softly, his eyes earnest. And if that didn’t just make Stiles’ heart quit right then… “I mean, we’ll both be at UCSB next year. It’s not like it would be a long distance relationship.”

Derek cringed when Stiles’ heart sped up. He rushed to recover himself, “Not that, you know, it has to be a relationship! I mean, just because we both go to the same school doesn’t mean we have to date or anything, just...”

Stiles took Derek’s hand in his own, stopping him. “What do you want, Derek?”

“You,” he answered simply.

“You have me,” answered Stiles.

**Author's Note:**

> Come check me out on [tumblr](http://tiedtogetherwithadagger.tumblr.com/)!
> 
> So it's mentioned that Derek's wolf-eyes are blue. Just so you're living in the same universe as the one in my head while you're reading this, I'm going by the headcanon that born wolves have blue eyes and bitten wolves have yellow.
> 
> Also I think it's important to note that the original title of this was [I'm on a Boat](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=R7yfISlGLNU) *cackles*


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